Amazon.co.uk
Sir Thomas Beecham wondered why it hadn't been called Herbert. Captain Cook even managed to miss the harbour's entrance, leaving it to Arthur Phillip to discover the site for what has become one of the most vibrant cities in the world. In the final volume of a Metropolitan Trilogy that has previously described Calcutta and New York Geoffrey Moorhouse considers Sydney--the youngest of the three but cantering up the rails apace (to use sporting jargon a Sydneysider would appreciate). Since the convict-laden First Fleet arrived in 1788 the city has experienced its share of growing pains, but perched on the brink of the 21st century it is now a racially diverse, culturally abundant hotspot emerging triumphantly from its adolescence.
Moorhouse attacks his task with the glorious energy of one who is smitten. The bibliography attests to the dusty volumes devoured to produce a narrative stuffed with fact, anecdote and entertaining hearsay that glides from objective to subjective perspective with an imperious swagger. A broad brush is successfully employed, for the author's winning enthusiasm and eclectically baggy rendition refreshes a palette fatigued by the self-conscious cynicism of which so much modern travel writing reeks. Giving due consideration to ethnic issues both indigenous and immigrant, sporting heritage, architecture, politics, Mardi Gras, ANZAC Day and the city's deep-rooted rivalry with The Other Place--Melbourne--Moorhouse cannot help but constantly return to Sydney's most cherished heirloom, its focus and raison d'être: the Harbour (where these days arriving vessels bear a different and more affluent kind of passenger). An intermingling of past and snapshot present gives rise to a valuable sociological chronicle both old-fashioned and progressive in the best sense of both words as well as providing a darned good read whether you're familiar with the city or not; and if you're not the chances are you'll very quickly want to be. --David Vincent
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Amazon.com
Sir Thomas Beecham wondered why it hadn't been called Herbert. Captain Cook even managed to miss the harbor's entrance, leaving it to Arthur Phillip to discover the site for what has become one of the most vibrant cities in the world. Since the convict-laden First Fleet arrived in 1788, Sydney has experienced its share of growing pains, but, perched on the brink of the 21st century, it is now a racially diverse, culturally abundant hotspot emerging triumphantly from its adolescence.
Geoffrey Moorhouse embraces the city with the glorious energy of one who is smitten. The bibliography attests to the dusty volumes devoured to produce a narrative stuffed with fact, anecdote, and entertaining hearsay that glides from objective to subjective perspective with an imperious swagger. A broad brush is successfully employed, for the author's winning enthusiasm and eclectically baggy rendition refreshes a palette fatigued by the self-conscious cynicism of which so much modern travel writing reeks. Giving due consideration to ethnic issues both indigenous and immigrant, sporting heritage, architecture, politics, Mardi Gras, ANZAC Day, and the city's deep-rooted rivalry with the Other Place--Melbourne--Moorhouse cannot help but constantly return to Sydney's most cherished heirloom, its focus and raison d'être: the Harbour (where, these days, arriving vessels bear a different and more affluent kind of passenger). An intermingling of past and snapshot present gives rise to a valuable sociological chronicle both old-fashioned and progressive in the best sense of both words--as well as providing a darned good read, whether or not you're familiar with the city. If not, chances are you'll very quickly want to be. --David Vincent, Amazon.co.uk
